


Disassembly

by NichePastiche



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Abduction, Aftermath of Torture, Amputation, Brainwashing, Cannibalism, Child Death, Childhood Trauma, Conditioning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Torture, Torture, any and all sex will involve enthusiastic consent, hurt!hannibal, potential hannigram, torture of a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NichePastiche/pseuds/NichePastiche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone abducts Hannibal. They know about his crimes and they know about his childhood. Over the course of his captivity this knowledge is used to take Hannibal apart piece by piece. Can Will help him return to the person he was before, and more importantly, does Hannibal even want that anymore?</p>
<p>(This fic is dedicated to my wonderful betas without whom this fic would not exist.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

The passage of time was something that happened to other people. That concept no longer existed to Hannibal.

Everything was pain. Anything not pain was fear.

At least he was never alone. Hunger was his constant companion and sometimes it spoke with harsh voices and echoing screams and clung with tiny hands, the memory of hungry, biting cold.

 

...

 

Will knew he was deluding himself, but for the first week he held out hope that they would find Hannibal alive. 

When the reality of it finally hit him, he was in the middle of looking over one of the corpses in forensics. This would be the only way Will would ever see Hannibal again - as a horribly maimed or decaying cadaver to be inspected and prodded on a cold autopsy table for cause of death. That would be the only way Will would ever even know what had happened to his only friend. And Will would have to be the one to look at him, put himself in the place of the killer. He decided then that yes, he would force himself to empathize with Hannibal’s murderer because if they found a body, and he didn’t at least try, he would never be able to live with himself.

As for right now, he couldn’t stop crying.

 And he was probably going to puke.

Beverly was the first to speak, concern apparent in her unusually soft voice, “Will… are you okay?”

“No,” Will managed between broken sobs. “Not at all.” 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
When the pain burned white hot, a man’s face would sometimes be waiting for him in the darkness found behind closed eyes. He was sure the recesses of his mind held captive a name as well, if only he…

Thrown back into his cage of filth, he recalled the name: Will. A familiar name. Was it his own? Had he been Will? No, his name was _brolis_. Maybe the name belonged to the face?

…

  
Will quit consulting for the FBI soon after breaking down into tears in the middle of the autopsy room. He’d managed to help Jack and the team solve a few cases prior to his leave, but every time he let the pendulum swing, the victim would eventually transform into Hannibal halfway through his visualizations, bringing them to an abrupt stop. He had only recently felt himself able to return to his teaching job, and during the day he tried be himself and fall back into normalcy again.

He found that he never succeeded. It honestly felt like he would never find the strength to get past this loss.

Hannibal had been the only person in his life who ever seemed able to sort out the absolute mess that was Will’s emotions, and now….

Now, he missed Hannibal so desperately he could hardly breathe. The overwhelming sense of loss was so much worse at night, even with his pack of dogs keeping him from being as truly alone as he felt.

At night he would replay the last time he saw Hannibal over and over in his head. Will wished he could remember what Hannibal had said, but it wasn’t the actual words spoken at the time that he had been paying attention to. What he recalled with razor-sharp clarity was Hannibal’s voice; the way his exquisite lips moved fluidly as they uttered surely meaningful strings of words. Will pictured with ease the tiny scar on the bridge of Hannibal’s perfectly shaped nose and the fine suit concealing a well-muscled torso. Will remembered the way Hannibal had done that curiously arousing thing with his lips and how, without a thought, Will had closed the distance between them, claiming them with his own.

Will remembered hands that were simultaneously strong and graceful. He remembered his own involuntary shiver when Hannibal drew those obscenely perfect fingers across his scalp.

Most of all, Will remembered panicking. Pulling away like a hand burned by the flame, and fleeing without looking back.

He hadn’t even said goodbye.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

The door to his small cage was opened again after…. he was not sure. Time was still difficult.  The knife was placed in his hand, but he did not move to take hold of it. He didn't know if he still could.

"Hannibal…" cautioned the voice. The memory of pain flashed though his right arm and across the skin of his back. He kept his eyes tightly closed, but managed to force most of his hand to grasp the hated utensil."Good boy," the voice sounded pleased.

He tried to use what little remained of his muscles to crawl as far away from the cage door as the tiny space allowed. He knew what would happen next. Pain. Pain and food.

There was alway pain. Even food was pain. 

He stayed there, waiting. He knew what came next. He could hear the voice from the hall.

"How old are the puppies agai-" the small voice turned into a scream. They alway screamed. Only, they never stopped screaming. Even after they died. Just like she had screamed. He couldn't remember anymore if he had or not. 

But there were too many screams this time. Was he screaming too? No, the screams were too highpitched.

"Hannibal, don't be rude. Say hello to your dinner guests." The voice never seemed to hear the screams, but he knew it did because it never let him cover his ears. "I've decided to let you help plan the menu," it explained. 

He knew he would have to look eventually, and when he did, there were two of her. 

He didn't want to do this anymore! The voice was talking again, but he couldn't hear past all of the screams echoing inside of him.

“They’re twins. Aren’t they adorable? You need to make a decision, Hannibal. Which one do you want to kill?”

“No,” he croaked softly, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“You can’t have both. The extra food will spoil. Which one, Hannibal?”

“No!” he tried to shout, but his refusal came out as a cough. When he got his breathing back under control, he continued in a whisper, “Nesu Gruto.”

In response, the knife was plucked from his hand as one of the little blonde girls was shoved into the already cramped cage with him.

“Then I’ll do it.”

Hannibal managed to make his atrophied muscles work enough to pull the young child to him and cover her eyes. Her tiny body trembled as she cried in fear. Her tiny fingers dug into the skin of his arm, leaving small crescents in their wake. He couldn't save Mischa. He couldn't save her.  He never could.  He'd failed her again, but maybe he'd be allowed to protect this one. She shouldn't have to watch. Children shouldn't have to watch their sister's murder. "Please," he whispered into her blond hair, "cover your ears." His breath caught on the tears trapped in his throat. He watched as their captor dragged the other twin to the support pillar in the middle of the room. "Please! You shouldn't have to hear this," his voice cracked half way though. 

Their captor tied the terrified little girl’s arms in a backwards hug around the pillar, and tied her feet to its base. The child in his arms had her fingers in her ears and her legs curled protectively in front of her as she cried. "I want, my Mama," she whimpered, her voice only audible because of their proximity. 

"Man irgi," he held her as she screamed into the tattered remains of what used to be his shirt. When she hid her face against his shoulder, he covered her tiny, perfect hand with his own ruined fingers.  "Aš atsiprašau Mischa," 

Hannibal made himself continue watching as their captor removed a three year old girl's lungs while she was still conscious.  

He wasn't even aware he was talking the whole time.   _Kodėl jie niekada pasirinkti domėjosi? Aš turėtų jau mirė! Ne tu, Mischa. Ne tu! Aš leidau tai įvyktų! Esu kaltas! Kaltų. Kaltų. Kaltų...  Atleisk man. Prašau…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lithuanian in this chapter is the best I get from google translator. If anyone who actually speaks lithuanian knows a better way of saying it, please don't hesitate to say something.
> 
> It seems I'm not doing very well spacing theses pre-typed chapters out like I planned. Knowing people like the fic makes it wonderfully difficult to wait, so thank you for all the kind comments. I really love reading them.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Visions plagued Will’s mind in his sleep, forcing his restless eyes to finally snap open in the dead of night. The hallucinations had disappeared once he’d gotten the proper treatment for his encephalitis, but the nightmares had remained vivid and strong. Will ran a palm roughly down his face and breathed out a resigned sigh. The idea of sleep no longer appealed, so he opted to let his dogs out for a bit instead.

His mind still half in the world of nightmares, Will walked downstairs and opened the front door.

Waiting for him on his porch was a bouquet of flowers within a clear glass vase. Situated amongst the petals was a preprinted card stating in large, elegant letters: “Sorry for your loss.”

Stepping back inside, Will grabbed his phone, and, for the first time in at least half a year, he called Jack Crawford. “Jack? There’s been a murder.”

 Artfully arranged in the center of the bouquet was most of a pair of human hands. 

The vase was full of blood.

Will didn’t need to wait for the results from forensics. The deliberate design of the macabre flower arrangement told him everything he needed to know. Before they were cut and arranged into a perverse imitation of a flower, those hands had belonged to Hannibal.

Will had the presence of mind to make sure the dogs stayed inside, but beyond that, a single thought consumed him. Hannibal was presumed dead months ago, yet the hands showed nowhere near the correct level of decay for that

They had- No, _he_ had stopped searching too soon.

The meaning of the words on the other other end of the phone felt like a bullet ripping through his chest: “Will, we found him.”

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He didn’t want to see the body. He couldn’t look, didn’t want to see the rest. He didn't want to have to force himself to see this killers design. He already saw it in his nightmares each night.

But for Hannibal, he would force himself to see. He didn't want to, but he would.  

“I’m sending someone to pick you up. He’s asking for you, Will. He won’t let the paramedics get near him.”

 

.     .     .

 

His cage was gone. The cage was gone. Just like the girl was gone. There was pain, but the pain wasn’t new. New pain always happened when the cage disappeared.  He was cold. So very cold. He missed his cage. At least there hadn't been any snow inside the cage.

When the red-haired woman found him, he tired to crawl away, but he couldn't make his muscles work correctly anymore. 

Then the woman was gone too, only to suddenly reappear with a large, heavy cloth. He shook violently as she threw it over him and pulled him into the room with her.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

Will knew there was no way to prepare himself for what he'd see, so he didn't even bother trying. When he got there, Freddie Lounds' tiny apartment was overflowing with police officers. 

“Look, I’m sorry if I disturbed potential evidence, but what was I supposed to do? Leave him outside to freeze?” Freddie was the first to notice his arrival. “Will, I’m glad you could make it… I mean it this time.” 

Will ignored her.

His entire attention was focused on the muffled noises coming from under the bed. It was too bright in here. There were too many people.

“I need everyone else to leave the room.” Will didn’t think he had raised his voice, but something about his tone must have conveyed the intended feeling behind his message, because everyone complied, leaving without question. Once they were gone, he walked over to the light switch and turned off the lights. He waited for his eyes to adjust before doing anything else.

Trying not to imagine what he might see, he lowered himself to the floor until his stomach touched the carpet.

On the farthest side of the space under the bed, pressed up against the wall, was a shell of a man. A nearly skeletal creature curled in on itself, face pressed into the corner, laying in a pool of its own urine.

This wasn't Hannibal. Someone had taken Hannibal, shattered him and left behind a pile of jagged sharp and incurably fragile fragments of the man who used to be Will's closest friend.

"Hannibal, do you remember me?" Will needed to stay calm, but none of his encephalitis fueled hallucinations had prepared him for this reality.  Hannibal made a sound that fell somewhere between a whimper and a gasp, but other than that, he gave no response or indication that he either understood or remembered Will.

After nearly a minute passed, Hannibal started shaking.

"Hannibal? It's me. It's Will." This time, Will managed to keep his own fear from reaching his voice.

“Will?” Hannibal’s plea sounded almost childlike in its reluctant hope, spoken so softly that Will barely even heard it.

Will closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath before speaking. “Yes. I’m Will… your friend.”

Without turing away from the wall, Hannibal began to weep.

“It’s okay,” Will soothed in the same voice he used when one of his dogs panicked during a thunderstorm. “You don’t have to come out if you don’t want to.”

Hannibal began hyperventilating. “Will!”

“I’m going to join you under there, alright?”

Hannibal began speaking rapidly in a language Will didn’t recognize, but he didn’t need to. Fear is universal.

“Hannibal, it’s all right. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Don’t,” the English seemed to catch in Hannibal’s throat, “lie to me!” The crying came to a shuddering halt. “You’re not real.”

The words had barely left Hannibal’s lips before Will slid himself under the bed, next to him. “I’m Will Graham, and I’m real. I don’t want to scare you, but I’m going to touch your shoulder in a second. Alright?”

Will ran one finger along the distressingly prominent outline of Hannibal’s scapula. 

“I told you. I’m real.”

And Will’s arms were suddenly and wonderfully full of Hannibal.  
  
“Will!”

 “Yes,” Will tried, but his own tears could only be held back for so long before he was crying in sheer relief because Hannibal wasn't dead.“Yes, it’s me.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

What was going on? Why was Will here? Hannibal wasn't in his cage and nothing made sense anymore. He missed his cage. He was safe there. Nothing could hurt him when he was in his cage. Hannibal would be safe there. He needed to find a way back to his cage before there was any more pain or… screaming.

No, not Will! Please no! It couldn't happen to Will. He wouldn't let it. No, it would be okay this time. Will could fit in the cage with him! It was tiny and safe there. There might be just enough room for it to work, because Hannibal didn't take up as much space as he used to. Hannibal didn't even care about the pain anymore, he just wanted Will and he wanted to go back to the safe familiarity of his cage. But the lights and the noises and the people - they wouldn’t let him. They were trying to to take Will away from him!

No, not Will too! Please, please, just let him take Will back to the safety of his cage! They’d be safe there! This time it would stop. It had to. He didn’t want it anymore.

. . .

Sitting at Hannibal's bedside, Will couldn't help wondering just how much was left of the man he knew. Even unconscious, it was hard to reconcile this broken form with the Hannibal he remembered. The quiet strength once concealed beneath three piece suits was no more. Starvation had eaten the fat from his body and begun it's work on Hannibal's already atrophied muscles. Lying there, hooked up to machines and IVs, Hannibal looked almost as small as Will felt. The skin of his body like an ill fitting suit.

And his hands. Those precise, strong, beautiful hands. They were covered in bandages now, but Will had already seen the extent of the damage. The entirety of Hannibal's right hand was missing. Multiple poorly healed scars littered the entire arm, but everything from the wrist down was missing completely.

His left hand fared slightly better. It was missing the pointer finger, the middle finger and the thumb along with a large portion of the palm.

Will wished Hannibal were awake. He wished he could talk to him, hear his voice and see his eyes again. Will needed something more tangible than a doctors reassurances before he could start believing his friend was still alive.

Will fought sleep for as long as he could in the hopes that Hannibal would wake, but after forty-three hours without rest, sleep finally claimed him.

. . .

Hannibal struggled to understand what had happened. Why was he not in his cage anymore? Why had he been allowed to sleep so long? Opening his eyes would give away the fact he was awake, but he had no other choice if he wished to assess his surroundings.

After opening his eyes, Hannibal decided he was likely still asleep.

Staring at the uncomfortably sleeping form of Will Graham, it was all Hannibal could do to will himself not to wake up.

Perhaps fate would take pity on him this once by letting him die like this. Here, in his sleep, dreaming of the face he'd never get to see again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm more than a little surprised nobody has tried to guess who did this to him yet. Seeing as that's not the main focus of this story, hopefully that just means I'm doing it right.)


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

Will stayed with Hannibal 24/7 for the entirety of the hospital stay. He would have anyway, but Hannibal hadn't given him much of a choice in the matter. The single, hollow sounding "don't leave me" whispered in the middle of the night had ensured that. 

With no living relatives left to care for him, it was decided that Hannibal would stay with Will until he was able to live on his own again. Hannibal never responded to any of the attempts to get his input, so the matter had to be decided for him. Although Hannibal gave no sign of agreement, he also offered no objections. Hopefully, that meant he agreed with the decision. There was no way to know for sure, but there weren't very many options to choose from.

Hannibal had been missing for over a year. His house was sold for a large amount of money which, from what Will understood, had been anonymously donated to several pre-specified charities. Most of the artwork was donated to the Baltimore Museum of Art. His clothing, along with the rest of his things, were auctioned. The majority of the money went to various hunger relief agencies, but a percentage was set aside in a savings account for Abigail. There was nothing left for Hannibal to go back to. 

Hannibal was still incredibly underweight to the point where Will was able to transfer him to a wheelchair without the assistance of a nurse. As Will rolled him down the hallway, Hannibal shook slightly with the effort to keep himself upright. 

"We're almost there. You're doing great," Will didn't have to see Hannibal's face to know his eyes were darting around, constantly searching his surroundings for potential threats.

Thankfully, they made it to the car without incident.

When they emerged from the building into the mid day sun, Hannibal closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Will felt hope jolt through his heart like an electric shock. This was the Hannibal he remembered. This was the carful consideration and enjoyment so characteristic of the man he knew. 

He knew Hannibal would have to fight for these moments, but Will planned to do everything in his power to help create more of them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberty with the amount of time a person has to be missing to be declared dead in absentia. I don't think even Hannibal could survive seven years of that.
> 
> Also, I made some fan art for this fic:  
> http://niche-pastiche.tumblr.com/post/65014503629


	8. Chapter 8

 

When they reached Will's house in Wolf Trap, Hannibal realized just what a fool he had been.  
  
He'd let himself believe that this could be real. He had let himself hope that Will might not have to die. 

He was wrong. 

He was always wrong. 

The proof was sitting on the front porch of Will's house.

Hannibal made his decision while Will was busy trying to unlock the front door. There was so little left that Hannibal had control over. This time it would be his choice.

Quietly, without Will noticing at first, Hannibal slid out of the wheelchair. 

He managed to crawl halfway to the cage before Will noticed.

There wasn't going to be enough room for them both. 

It was too small. Will was going to die. 

Hannibal wondered what part of Will he would be forced to eat. 

If it had to happen, he hoped it was his heart. Will would probably appreciate the symbolism even if Hannibal didn't. 

Not anymore.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

"I'll have to move some things out of the-" the words died in Will's throat. Doing his best to wave off the dogs crowding around them, Will dropped to the floor next to Hannibal.

"Hannibal?" Will's voice sounded more panicked than he would have liked, but it was the best he could do.

Hannibal ignored him and continued to drag himself inch by inch across the front porch. The attempt was clearly causing him a great deal of pain, and his muscles tremored with the exertion.

Will didn't want to risk making things worse by reaching for Hannibal. Frightening him was the last thing he wanted to do. With that thought in mind, Will took a deep, calming breath and tried again. "Please, Hannibal. Say something, anything. I don't know what it is you need right now."

Hannibal gave a sharp intake of breath before abandoning his efforts to instead hide his face against his heavily scarred right arm. Hannibal's reply was muffled and heavy with accent to the point of sounding slurred, "not supposed to be outside my cage… safe there."

He missed a few of the words, but the meaning was abundantly clear.

Over the course of a little more than a year, Hannibal Lecter had been made to associate safety with the inside of a dog kennel.

Now was not the time to process this. Will needed to get Hannibal off of the front porch and away from the dog kennel. He'd have to proceed very carefully. He had a general idea what to do, but it wasn't going to work if Hannibal didn't cooperate. "I'm going to need you to trust me. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," Hannibal's reply was clipped in such a way that it left behind the shape of words unvoiced. There would be time enough to wonder about those words later.

Will carefully gathered Hannibal into his arms. His old stab wound protested, but Will managed to carry him inside anyway. He set Hannibal on a nearby chair, "Hannibal, I'm going to need you to let go now. I have to go get some things from the other room. I'll be right back. I promise."

Hannibal's arms remained wrapped around Will's shoulders for several moments. He took several deep breaths before finally letting Will pull away. When Hannibal met his eyes, Will was relieved to see his gaze seemed slightly more aware. "I still don't feel safe here." Unfortunately, the calm was short-lived.

Will thought he saw Hannibal's eyes widen for a fraction of a second as the man abruptly turned to gaze in horror at Will's desk. A sudden, inhuman scream tore through Hannibal in a series of violent shudders that only stopped when he began vomiting the meager contents of his stomach onto the living room floor.

The doctors had reassured Will that Hannibal was no longer at risk for refeeding syndrome, but he was still going to call the hospital later and double check about the vomiting. He was pretty sure it wasn't dangerous, but Will could sleep easier knowing for sure. They hadn't listed vomiting as one of the symptoms, but he was so scared of screwing something up. That could wait though, because right now, Hannibal needed him.

After making sure he could see so it wouldn't be a surprise, Will placed his hand lightly on Hannibal's less injured shoulder. "You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to, but I'd like you to tell me if there's anything I can do to help." Will hadn't really expected an answer yet, but he got one anyway.

"Burn them."

"I… you're going to have be a bit more specific."

"Your fishing lures. Burn them and let me watch."


	10. Chapter 10

Hannibal watched silently as the fireplace claimed every last one of the fishing lures Will had spent so much time on. Somewhere amongst the burning feathers, thread, metal and bones, Hannibal could feel part of himself burning.

It was a cleansing, sterilizing flame designed to burn away the threat of infection. 

Will kept his word. Instead of attempting to coax an explanation from Hannibal, he cleaned the mess out of the carpet. When he was done, Will sat on the floor next to Hannibal's chair.

The way Will's hair looked in the light from the fireplace made Hannibal want to run both his hands through those messy brown curls. Instead, he had to settle for resting his arm awkwardly on Will's shoulder.

Hannibal let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when Will leaned into his touch. 

.     .     .

Dinner consisted of a carefully made smoothie.

It was crucial that Hannibal get exactly the nutritional content doctor specified, even though Hannibal kept insisting he wasn't hungry.

Will was going to need to go to the grocery store soon anyway, but there was still enough food left for a day or two at least. There were enough ingredients to make soup, but Will had opted for the smoothie.  It was something Hannibal could manage without Will having to feed it to him. He wanted to help Hannibal feel safe and in control of things again.

Even if it was something as seemingly simple as being able to feed himself.

.     .     .

The walk to the bathroom from the kitchen seemed unfairly difficult. Hannibal only managed to walk three steps on his own before he his knees begin to buckle.

Instead of the floor rushing up to meet him, Will's arms had darted around Hannibal's waist to prevent him from falling.

Although he still feared Will might dissolve at any moment, the man currently pressed against him felt more real than any of the similar scenarios Hannibal's mind had conjured in the past.

"I can help if you want," Will explained as he adjusted his grip on Hannibal so that he could more easily support his weight. "But if me being this close to you isn't a good thing just say tell me and-"

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Hannibal was fighting a loosing battle against an involuntary smile, " but if we keep standing here much longer I'm afraid you may have to carry me."

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

It wasn't that he minded helping. It just hurt to see Hannibal so dependent on others. This was a man who had honed self-sufficiency to an art form, yet even using the bathroom without help was a struggle now. Thankfully, Hannibal was able to manage the toilet with relatively minimal assistance.

To at least give the illusion of privacy, Will took the opportunity to begin filling the bathtub with water. Once that was done, he helped Hannibal the rest of the way out of his clothing and steadied him as he slipped into the warm bath.

As Hannibal leaned back in the water and closed his eyes, Will could see the precise moment he decided to let his guard down. It was like watching the tide close over a partially demolished sand castle, the waves removing both the destruction and the structure itself. Leaving behind a smooth expanse of sand upon which the castle could be rebuilt or the same sand could be reshaped into something else entirely.

"I was right," Hannibal whispered,"it does feel like dying."

.     .     .

Hannibal allowed himself to lean into the sensation as Will's fingers massaged the shampoo into his scalp. The adrenalin from earlier had dissipated, leaving behind bone deep weariness in it's wake. He only meant to close his eyes for a moment, but the combination of warm water and kind hands lulled him to sleep. His exhaustion was such that the noise of the water being drained from the tub only halfway managed to wake him.

"Sorry, but you can't spend the whole night in the tub," Will explained softly while helping Hannibal out of the bathtub and into a T-shirt and a pair of boxers. "You'll have to borrow my clothes until we can get you some of your own, sorry."

"No," mumbled Hannibal, still mostly asleep, "don't mind."

He didn't mind at all. The clothes smelled faintly of Will.

Even though the air was cold, Hannibal still felt safe. Will was safety, the type that Hannibal wanted to wrap around himself like a blanket before going to sleep.   
The warm water had effectively turned his legs to jelly so Will mostly carried him as they tried to navigate the hallway.

Will was speaking again, but Hannibal wasn't particularly focused on the words. He simply took shelter in Will's voice and the way he formed individual syllables.

Hannibal finally gave Will his full attention after sitting down on the bed,

"…so I figure you can have my bed and I'll just go sleep in the-"

"No," Hannibal interrupted. His voice brooked no argument. "Stay here." It was not a request.

Will glanced from the floorboards, to the clock, to the faded bite marks on Hannibal's arm. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before making eye contact.  
  
"Please," Hannibal's voice caught almost imperceptibly.

_A warm wetness. The smell of copper. A frightened plea. Blond hair dripping crimson. Tiny hands attempting to grasp the spikes that pierced them. A scream of pain choked out by wet, gurgling silence. His fingers being pried one by one from her arm as she's taken from him again._

"Please, stay with me." This time it was a request, just like it had been with all the others. "If you're taken from me too I-" Hannibal wasn't sure how much longer he could keep his breathing under control. Each memory was like a snapshot. Vivid and brief.

Will was talking again, and Hannibal tried to focus on his voice, but it was more difficult than it should have been. He could barely hear Will over the turmoil of his own thoughts.

Will climbed in bed with him and tucked them both under the covers.

Hannibal reached an arm across the space Will left between them.

The gesture was understood without Hannibal having to ask. Will moved closer and tilted his head so that their foreheads touched. "My name is Will Graham, yours is Hannibal Lecter. We are in Wolf Trap, Virginia. And I am never going to let anything take me away from you ever again. I promise."

Hannibal didn't say anything. He just moved even closer and tucked his head against Will's chest.

It was only a couple minutes before he was able to fall asleep to the steady rhythm of Will's heartbeat.

.     .     .

Will had been looking forward to taking his own shower after so much time spent at the hospital, but that would just have to wait until morning. He wasn't about to risk Hannibal waking up alone.

Right now, he just held him close and marveled at the fact he could. He had grieved for this man, yet here he was, asleep in Will's arms. It was nothing short of a miracle. The amount of trust Hannibal placed in him was truly humbling.

Somewhere along the line, Will had been led to believe that sleep made people appear peaceful, younger even. Hannibal was sleeping so deeply that the only clue he was even alive came from the sensation of his breath softly ghosting across Will's neck. He mostly just looked dead.

Maybe it was the combination of Hannibal's gaunt appearance and too many years spent looking at crime scenes, but it carried a profound sense of déjà vu.

During the last few weeks before the successful diagnosis and treatment of his encephalitis, the content of Will's hallucinations had nearly broken him. More often than not, Hannibal's corpse had been waiting for him every time he entered a room. Other times, Hannibal was alive, but would rapidly decay as Will looked on. Hannibal was always conscious the entire time and they never broke eye contact. Even now that the encephalitis was gone, Will had nightmares about it.

Nightmares. Hannibal would probably have those too, now.

Will knew better than most that there was no way to protect against them. All that either of them could do about it was stay close and hope that it might somehow be enough.

At the very least, they would have someone to cling to.

It was more than Will had ever expected from life, but it was so much less than what Hannibal deserved. It was something though, and it was the best that Will could do.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

Darkness pierced by the click of shoes against the hallway floor. 

The sound echoed though out the room until it seemed to emanate from the walls. The footsteps served as a ticking clock that was swiftly running out of time.

Time never ran out for Hannibal. It just kept stretching on and on. Nothing he tired would make it stop.

He had to stop it. He had to. He didn't want this anymore. He couldn't do it. It hurt too much. He had to protect her this time. He'd promised his parents he would, but he never could. Every time! She died every time and it was all his fault. He'd promised!

Suddenly, Mischa was gone, and Will was standing where she had once been. No. Please not him! Not Will too. Hannibal tried to let go of the knife, but his hand was fused shut around it. The skin of his fingers had grown shut around it and he didn't know how get it out.  "I'm sorry, Will! I'm so sorry!" He had to shout over the echoing noise of the heels.

Will took several step closer as Hannibal frantically tried to get rid of the knife. "Stop, please! Don't come any closer! It's not safe, you don't know who I am! What I'll do…" but It was too late, Will was too close.

 Hannibal brought their bodies flush against one another and plunged the knife into Will's abdomen. The knife cut through Will's flesh with ease, but the look of betrayal on Will's face cut Hannibal just as deeply. He was helpless to stop as his knife gave a sharp twist before cutting open the length of Will's torso. Blood and feces coated them both as the entire world went silent except for the wet slap of Will's intestines falling out onto the floor.

"Stop" Will begged soundlessly. 

Couldn't Will see he was trying? He didn't want this, but his body refused to obey him. Instead, his hands moved up to Will's ribs. Sound rushed back in with a ragged scream of agony as Hannibal opened Wills ribs, exposing his heart.

Sitting in a warm pool of blood, Hannibal watched himself murder the only other person he had left.

.     .     .

Will was awakened when a warm wetness began to soak the bedding around him. A soft whimper from the man curled up next to him helped determine its source.

Hannibal had wet the bed.

  


	13. Chapter 13

  
Terror and scalding shame. The first propelled Hannibal from the bed and into the far corner of the room, but the latter kept him there.

"If you want to talk about it, we can, but I'll need to clean this up first." Will seemed completely unfazed, stripping the sheets off the bed and using a series of towels to soak up what had seeped into the mattress.

"I'm so sorry, Will" Hannibal’s words carried the weight of all the unforgivable things he had done over the years.

"You have nothing to apologize for." The certainty in Will's voice was reassuring, misplaced as it was. "Are you okay staying here while I throw these in the washing machine? It'll just take a second, and then we can both get cleaned up."

Hannibal managed to nod an affirmative, but could not bring himself to make eye contact. Apparently, this was satisfactory, because Will left the room several seconds later.

Hannibal was alone with his thoughts and his shame.

He was ruined, useless. Perhaps he always had been. Memories of the voice from the cage echoed though his mind, _"You harm everything you touch. Even those who you help will be harmed in the end, once the truth of you is revealed. The reality that they trusted the Chesapeake Ripper may be too much for some of them. Your patients. Your friends. Will Graham. Will isn’t just going to hate you. Based on everything you've told me about him, he's going to hate himself even more. Will Graham's death is going to be at your hands, no matter how indirectly.”_

Hannibal couldn't be sure if he was remembering one specific instance, or if his mind had conjured it from an amalgamation of memories from his time spent in that cage. Either way was of no consequence, because the words held enough truth to them. Hannibal wished they would leave, yet try as he might, he could no longer control the direction of his own thoughts.

Hannibal was still staring at what used to be his hands when Will returned. If he noticed Hannibal was crying, Will was kind enough not to mention it.

Hannibal had to fight not to shove him away when Will helped him to his feet. He wanted Will as close as possible, but with increased proximity came increased risk. Hannibal could not lose Will. Will was all he had left.

Staying grounded in reality was more difficult than it should have been. The dream had felt real on an instinctual level. In an attempt to regain his composure, Hannibal focused the entirety of his attention on the feeling of Will's arm wrapped around his waist, offering both physical and emotional support, as they made their way to the bathroom.


	14. Chapter 14

He'd managed to ignore Will all day, but it was beginning to take it's toll. His sense of reality was slipping. They weren't flashbacks. Not yet.  Just thoughts, memories that refused all attempts to be contained. Lying awake in bed, Will lying next to him, Hannibal stopped trying. This was his punishment. It was the price of survival.

_The interior of his mind was once meticulously organized. Specific memories relegated to specific rooms and connected by quiet hallways. Now, any semblance of order was long gone._

_Everything was chaos. Entire walls, were missing. Blood ran out from under the few doors that remained shut. New connections had formed between previously unrelated memories. The entire structure was in ruins and pieces of memories roamed the halls._

_A slight misstep sent Hannibal crashing through the floor, into Bedielia's office the day he'd killed her patient. At least, it should have been, but the body lying on the floor was not that of the man he killed._

_Instead, a tiny, broken child lay dead on the ground, long blonde hair caked in weeks worth of dried blood and excrement. Her torso was split open and her liver, heart and kidneys lay on her chest._

_Hannibal turned and ran from the room._

_His own memory devices had turned against him. He was no longer safe in his own mind._

 

Hannibal woke to a pitch black room. He couldn't breath. He was barely getting enough air with every gasping breath, as he struggled to spit the coppery taste of blood from his mouth. 

A second later, the bedside table lamp turned on with a click, and Hannibal turned to see Will rubbing sleep from his eyes. "You okay?" Will asked, his voice rough from sleep. He didn't wait for an answer. "Hey, come here." Will propped himself up on some pillows and motioned for Hannibal to join him. 

Safely tucked against Will's side, Hannibal took the opportunity to reach for Will’s hand with what little remained of his own.

After a moments contemplation, Will brought the remnants of Hannibal's hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the relatively unscathed edge of Hannibal's palm. 

Will had no idea what those hands had done, and Hannibal had no intention of telling him. Instead, he struggled to interlace the only two remaining fingers of his left hand with Will's. It was difficult to do, but Will helped. 

“I know I took some convincing at first, but our conversations used to be the only thing that kept me from being overwhelmed by the monsters in my mind. ” Will’s words seemed rehearsed, but genuine. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to return the favor.”

“I can’t.”

“It’s alright if you’d be more comfortable talking to someone else. Don’t worry about money, I’ll pay whatever’s necessary so you can see a therapist you’re comfortable with.”

“Thank you, but you misunderstand. I wish I could tell you, Will. I wish I could tell you everything but I cannot. There is simply too much.” 

Hannibal let go of Will’s hand and turned so that he was practically lying on top of Will. Even there was no danger, the need to shield those he cared about with his own body was permanently burned into him by everything he had endured.

“You don’t have to share everything all at once. I’ll help you through it a little bit at a time.” Will rested his chin on top of Hannibal’s head, “We’re going to sit here until you’re ready to talk. You don’t have to say a word until you’re ready, but we’re not going anywhere until you do.” 

“I was… I don’t know where to start.”

“You don’t have to, but you could start with these,” Will indicated the collection of bite marks that ran the length of Hannibal’s arm.

Several minutes passed before he was able to answer. “They were self inflicted. There was no food. I was desperate.” Hannibal didn’t elaborate and Will didn’t ask him to.

The parts that haunted him were left unsaid. Both Hannibal and the the child in the cage with him had been starving. He had managed to bite several chunks out of his arm for them both to eat before the sound of high heels outside the door signaled that Hannibal was to be taken to the kitchen to prepare their meal from the organs of the young girl’s sister.


	15. Chapter 15

 

The next several days passed much the same as the first few, and during that time, they settled into a routine of sorts. 

When they let the dogs out first thing each morning, Will would help Hannibal over to the front porch where they would sit, bundled up in blankets, and wait for the dogs to wander back over. It was a time usually spent in silence only broken by an occasional yawn. Sometimes, when they were awake particularly early, they would watch the sunrise. 

Once they were back inside, Will would make breakfast while Hannibal watched. Meal times were some of the most difficult parts of the day for both of them. Hannibal’s aversion to meat made more sense now that Will knew Hannibal had been forced to resort to eating his own flesh in order to survive. As far as understanding what had happened, it was a start, but it didn’t explain everything. What was abundantly clear was that nearly everything in the kitchen was a trigger for Hannibal. The first time Will turned on the stove had been particularly disastrous. 

.     .     .

Hannibal thought he could manage. If he just knew it was coming, he thought he could handle it. It only happened for seconds at a time and if he could just…

The sound of Will opening the refrigerator door - _Hannibal meets the unseeing gaze of the child staring back at him from the refrigerator shelf_ \- and closing it again.

Hannibal tried to focus on his breathing.

It was just eggs and cheese. Will was just getting eggs for the omelets. There was absolutely nothing to worry about. It was just eggs, cheese and vegetables. 

If he could close his eyes and focus on breathing, then maybe he could ignore the sound of Will’s knife against the cutting board - _removing the tongue from the severed head of the little girl he’d spent so long trying to protect -_ cutting enough vegetables for two omelets.

The sound of the gas stove - _in Bedelia Du Maurier’s kitchen._

 


End file.
